


Petals for your Heart

by PotatoPIerrot



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoPIerrot/pseuds/PotatoPIerrot
Summary: "As long as you keep feeling, you might be able to live much beyond the average lifespan of a Hanahaki host."In which Kaneki Ken discovers a parasite that feeds on emotions living in his body among the many troubles he has to go through as a half ghoul.





	Petals for your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> haha yeah that title and summary really are pieces of work uh
> 
> anyways!! here's my take on a Hanahaki disease AU at long last!! no idea how plot suddenly appeared in the second half but?? it kinda worked so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

There are vines in his lungs and thorns in his throat. 

His body jolts with every violent hack; his head spinning, tears welling in his eyes. He can’t breathe. The coughs are dry, painful. No flu he’d caught in the past could even compare to this. It feels like something’s trying to claw out his mouth from his chest. He moves his hands away from his mouth once the convulsions begin quieting down, expecting to see blood.

Instead, he sees petals. 

His first reaction isn’t even that of surprise; at this point his body is so screwed up that it throwing up petals is the last thing that catches him off guard. He instead finds himself wondering which flower it belongs to; a long tear-drop shape, yellow on one end and blending to red on the other. A daisy, maybe? But do daisies have such colourful petals? He doesn’t know. He never did have much interest when it comes to botany. 

The first time he coughs petals is when he’s taking a shower. The static of the shower spray does little to mask the sound of his gut-wrenching coughs. Hinami, of course, hears it all clearly even from downstairs, immediately asking him if he’s alright the moment she sees him enter the room with a towel around his neck. He tells her he’s fine, that it was just him accidentally choking on some water while washing his hair. She giggles then, commenting on how much of a clutz he could still be despite everything and that she’s glad because recently he’s been seeming so stoic. She reminds him to be careful next time too, because it sounded really painful and it’s best if he could not do that so much. 

He isn’t sure if it’s just him, but for a moment, he thinks it gets a little easier to breathe. 

He doesn’t discard the petals, instead finding himself washing and keeping them pressed between book pages. He isn’t sure why he does it; perhaps it’s a simple sense of curiosity, perhaps it’s for a reason much more morbid than he thinks. Whatever it is, he doesn’t really have much time to spare caring and wondering. 

The next time, he vomits whole flowers instead of just petals. 

They aren’t the same as the last. They have wider, violet-coloured petals. Tiny, mockingly pretty. If it isn’t for the bloodstains they’d look exactly like the sort people would make crowns out of. He half wonders if there’s a garden growing within his body, half wonders if he should try getting a book on flowers to identify what they are. Perhaps there’s more to this than it seems? Perhaps there’s some meaning behind whatever the hell’s happening to him? 

It happens again at possibly the worse timing it could’ve happened. The stench of the sewers makes it all the more difficult to stop heaving. He can’t breathe, can’t think. Stop, he has to stop. It hurts and hurts and _hurts_. He stumbles, thrashes, writhes. The flowers leave a sickly-sweet taste in his mouth, disgusting when mixed with the bile he’s throwing up. Yet he feels his stomach rumble with hunger, desperate hunger. Monster, monster, monster. If he eats would it stop? Would everything stop? Would he have his body back? Please, please, _please_ , just—

_Kaneki._

He hears his voice, but no _no no no no_ it can’t be him. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have been able to find him _here_ of all places, _now_ of all times. It’s not him. There are no more flowers yet he still can’t breathe. It’s not him, it can’t be him. 

It _mustn’t_ be him. 

But god, it _is_ , it can’t be anyone _but_ him. Only he calls his name like that, only he would still be able to laugh under these circumstances, only _he_ would hold him like he’s the most precious thing in the world when he’s this broken, this unsightly. 

Air rushes into his lungs, his mind clearing a second too late. Or perhaps a second too early. There’s blood on his hands, face, mouth. Hide’s neck, cheek. Realization strikes him like lightning; his world falls apart into millions of pieces in a mere moment’s time. Oh, _god_ —what has he done? He can’t move past the violent quaking of his body. He can’t get away; far, far away so he’d never lay a finger on his best friend ever again because he knows if he does as he is now he’ll only hurt him more and more and _more_ and Hide would _let_ him until there’s nothing left to hurt. 

He feels a prick in his neck, feels Hide lean his forehead against his like he didn’t just try to tear his throat out. And _rest_ , he thinks he hears him say through the blood, pain and missing parts. _Just rest for now._  

And then the world goes blank and he stops remembering. 

**xXx**

The first time the leaves appear is when he's still in the cell; nameless, sightless, and without a single memory. 

It's _terrifying_. What's wrong with him? What did they do to him? What did they feed him? He's suffocating, drowning in dry _leaves_...? Dying, hopefully. Let him die so it'll stop hurting. 

It takes him time to notice the smell of chemicals filling the room, then his head's feeling heavy and his coughing's finally letting up. For once he welcomes the embrace of oblivion, letting his muscles unclench as he takes in greedy gulps of air, no matter how tainted. 

He wishes he won't wake up after that. 

He only hears his medical report a bit after he becomes the person named Sasaki Haise. 

"What's growing in your body is a parasite of sorts," the doctor explains to him, fingers tapping his desk as he shows him the results of a scan on his computer screens. "There's not much known about them; their infections are rare and selective. Yours," the man says as he gestures to the area around his chest with his pen, "has unfortunately reached quite a late stage of development." 

Haise squints at the mess of white indicated, not very sure what he should feel. Fascination. Fear. 

"It's taken root in your heart and lungs, and I understand from earlier records that it's already begun melding with your blood vessels." A squeak of the chair, a huff. "They call it the Hanahaki disease because coughing up flowers is both the main symptom, as well as the death sign. It can be removed surgically if detected early enough, but people usually don't notice until the flowers appear and the plant has already rooted into their systems."

"So I'm going to die?" It comes out more straightforward than Haise expects. It's sinking in; slowly, slowly. 

The doctor purses his lips. "From what we know, it feeds on emotions, and it'll only turn to taking nutrients directly from its host's body once that isn't enough. The fact that you're also a half-ghoul might also explain how you've managed to hold out for this long; your body has probably been constantly regenerating what it’s lost."

"How much longer do I have?" Haise realizes his clasping his hands together so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. It's unexpectedly terrifying, knowing he might die from a cancerous parasite before he's killed on the battlefield. The latter is something he's prepared for, it's something he can somewhat control. The Hanahaki disease? It'll slowly sap his strength and literally drain his life away. It'll worry the people around him and inconvenience them. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want that at all. 

"That, I suppose, might largely depend on yourself."

He stares at the man in incomprehension. 

"As I said, the disease feeds on emotions and will only begin feeding on its host's body once that isn't enough," the doctor elaborates shortly. "As long as you keep _feeling_ , Sasaki-kun, you might be able to live much beyond the average lifespan of a Hanahaki host.”

All they can give him are painkillers to make it hurt less and help him breathe easier after his fits. The plant feeds on emotions, but the flowers bloom from negative feelings. It's happened a few times too many for Haise to ignore. Whenever it feels like the walls are closing in, the world is collapsing into itself and he’s slowly fading away, his chest aches. It’ll ache and _ache_ and as if that’s not bad enough as it is branches would grow out of his throat and the flowers would attempt to suffocate him. 

There are three to four variations he knows of to date. As though each corresponding to a different feeling. He’s meticulously cleaned and kept whatever that could be salvaged so he’d have the chance to look them up. Hyacinth, anemone, heather. Sorrow, forsake, solitude. Real happy stuff. Of course, he constantly tries his best not to dwell on those feelings; life goes on even if he doesn't necessarily want it to. He just didn't think they'd be so intense that they'd make flowers bloom. 

He _does_ go on to try his best regulating his emotions; it's what's expected of him as a ghoul investigator anyways. He grows careful with what he feels, doing his best to tamper down the negative ones and while focusing on those more positive. It's difficult, no doubt. There's not much positivity when his days consist mainly of hunting down and killing people, after all. But he manages; to the point where he hears comments of him being naïve and foolish whispered behind his back from time to time. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he _is_ naive and foolish to believe he could keep faking it and hope to deceive the parasite dwelling in his chest. 

He holds out until after the time he loses control. 

It's then as though everything he's held back over the months decides to rush forth all at once. A liability, mistake, monster. He shouldn't be allowed to live; what is Special Class Arima _thinking_ , keeping someone like him around? They're right. Haise shouldn't be there, shouldn't be allowed to roam free when he's so incredibly dangerous. 

The flowers are as merciless as his own thoughts. Blackthorns dig into his windpipe, refusing to budge even from his desperate attempt to yank them out. And as dark spots begin dancing in his vision he wonders if swallowing herbicide would kill him first. It's unbearable. The self-hate alone is bad enough, but combined with the plants? He doesn't want to know what sort of sin he's committed in the past to earn himself this karmic retribution. Then again, perhaps it doesn't even need to be from the past; he's probably taking enough innocent lives as he is now. 

He doesn't remember passing out until he, unfortunately, wakes up in a hospital bed. 

It's been around eighteen months since his first diagnosis. The labs have managed to come up with a prototype medication courtesy of his regular check-ups and contributions of cell samples. At this point the most they can do is stall the parasite's growth, and even with that comes side effects like quickened heartbeats, cold sweat, and a few other things that sound almost petty in comparison to the torment he has to suffer every time he throws up flowers. Besides, it's not like he has a choice if he wants to avoid dying in places other than the battlefield. He's the only half-ghoul around with the Hanahaki disease; only he can test out the effectiveness of the medicine. 

Truth to be told, he doesn't know if it really works that well, or being assigned to the Quinx squad shortly after really made him that much genuinely happier. 

For the first time in an eternity (for all he knows, that could be literal), Haise's chest begins feeling lighter. There's warmth instead of pain, a tender sort of fuzziness instead of the tar-like coating around his lungs that he's used to. He...honestly begins enjoying himself, loving the Quinx as the family he never had. Sure, mentoring isn't exactly the easiest thing around when he's burdened with enough of his own troubles as he is, but he supposes if he can survive the occasional meeting with death through sickly sweet petals, he can figure it out somehow. 

Life with the Quinx is a complete change of pace from the one he had with Squad Zero. Where the S0 were almost ruthlessly efficient, the Quinx mostly just stumbled around and tried their best. They all had their distinct personalities and qualities which sometimes made getting along frustratingly difficult. Urie is much too confident, Shirazu too brash, Mutsuki too timid, and Saiko too… Saiko. Haise himself knows he’s not fit to lead; he’s always been better at being the follower, obeying orders and being told what to do because he’s aware of being way too emotional to be making important decisions. Still, he does what he can along with the four teens he unofficially adopts. He tries to guide them in whatever way he can, acting like he has everything under control even when he doesn’t.

Acting. It’s one of the few things he’s genuinely great at.

One by one the months begin passing. The Quinx squad remains a squad; Shirazu and Mutsuki warms up to him significantly. Saiko as well, though most bonding moments with her included letting her destroy them in Mario Kart. Urie remains difficult to approach despite Haise’s efforts and Shirazu’s highkey threats to his wellbeing if he doesn’t show some respect to their superior. Haise knows he’s harbouring his own issues, but honestly, he isn’t sure how to approach him about it and what’s there he can say without belittling his feelings. Asking his own handful of friends and acquaintances within the CCG doesn’t help much; all of them just aren’t that great in the emotional department. Haise’s left to stumble around even more on his own, trying hard not to feel like he’s already failed when he’s still trying and trying and _trying_.

And then comes the day when the Quinx discovers what he really is.

_“Even though you’re just a_ ghoul _.”_

It’s not even the fact that Urie spits the words with venom that hurts most; it’s the context in which he does so. Haise had dared to befriend them—dared to _love_ them, even, despite being a half-ghoul. He’d turned a blind eye on the danger he is as an existence to find acceptance among the people who are physically similar to him. He’d foolishly, _naively_ dared to believe he’s managed to form at least some kind of bond with this ragtag group of youngsters who also have kakuhou implanted into their bodies.

And now one of them is using the one thing he couldn’t help, the one thing he hated most about himself to argue for being demoted for a mistake he can’t accept.

Haise’s first reaction is pure indignance because does he think he had the choice? That he had the privilege to _choose_ to be what he is like they did? Then when that passes there’s just…hurt. Disappointment. He keeps up his act until he’s behind closed doors and out of sight, fearing that if he wavers now Shirazu might actually drag Urie outside for an all-out brawl. He brushes the comment off like he’s used to it, insists that the new assignment of leadership is final, and excuses himself after a curt good night.

The flowers once again appear as expected, though thankfully with much less pain and choking. Haise crushes the petals in his hands, pressing his knuckles against his eyes as he wills and _wills_ his tears to stop. He can’t cry over something like this. He’s a professional, an adult, a guide. It’s just an immature insult, just something uttered in a fit of careless anger. Akira’s always been warning him about being too soft for his own good. He can’t take it to heart, can’t take it to heart.

Otherwise the flowers would keep coming back.

**xXx**

The child in white tells him something about a parasitic fungus that fights for the control of its host’s body, likening the phenomenon to their situation where the entities of Kaneki Ken and Sasaki Haise struggle for control of a single vessel.

Truth to be told, Haise’s tired of hearing about parasites at this point. He’s tired in general, really. It’s one of the main side effects of the new medication he’s taking for his Hanahaki disease. The identity crisis he’s currently going through doesn’t do much to help, often leaving him with sleepless nights for fear he’d wake up a different person. It’s exhausting to ponder about who he wants to be, too; if he wants to cling on to the falsity he’s made his reality or slowly try to integrate his past identity into who he is now because he if he’s loved so dearly by someone like Fueguchi Hinami then surely he couldn’t have been as bad as he thought he was? He honestly doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that he really needs a long, peaceful nap.

The flowers have gradually begun making their reappearances, but at least they are no longer as painful as they are still extremely uncomfortable. It seems that the new medicine numbs physical pain so he’d only feel like he’s choking on very stubborn vegetables and not like he’s got a clawed beast thrashing in his chest and throat. The only possible setback is that if Haise stops feeling pain, he’d be increasingly reckless when fighting and not realize the degree of his injuries until it’s too late.

It’s kind of incredible, how the disease strives to kill him in whatever indirect way possible.

It’s not long until he wishes to have medicine to numb him emotionally as well, even if it means letting the Hanahaki disease take his life.

A mother repeatedly beating a child as he begged over and over and over for forgiveness over wanting a toy. The same mother cooking the most delicious hamburger patties in the world, the same mother always coming home after a long day of work with a tired smile on her face. The same child looking at his mother with adoration, the same child flinching every time his mother raises her voice or hand towards him.

_I want to die in a stylish way_.

The child is the same child who shows him the first of his memories, hair black instead of white.

The child is him.

Fragment by fragment, his memories return as he gorges on the disgusting remains of Yoshimura Eto’s kakuja form. A near lifetime of abuse, an almost hilariously unfortunate beginning of adulthood. An existence he clung to like a lifeline.

After his betrayal towards a loyal comrade from a time long gone, he discovers that Shirazu is dead.

_He wanted to see you._

_If only you were here sooner._

_Let’s have a talk once this is over._

Still. Time comes to an utter standstill as he holds his subordinate’s lifeless body in his arms, staining his hands with the blood from the wound that took his life. Saiko clings to his back, sobbing uncontrollably into his shirt. Mutsuki hangs his head at Shirazu’s other side, shoulders shaking as he hoarsely calls the name that would no longer be responded to over and over. Urie stands turned away, hands clenched into fists as he tries to digest the harsh retort Haise threw back at him when he accused him in his fit of grief.

From that night onwards, Haise barely sleeps for fear of what he may see in his dreams, no matter how much his eyes feel like they’re on fire from the tears he’s unable to shed.

From that night onwards, the only flowers he coughs up are purple hyacinths.

**xXx**

Amid the memories of abusive households and cut limbs and numbers and madness, there’s golden hair, warm touches, and laughter like music.

He killed him.

He _let_ him kill him.

He lost him.

He’s never seeing him again.

He so desperately wants to see him again.

He begins taking his medication in increased doses, numbing everything save the hollow void in his chest. With every dream, every memory, he yearns more and more to see him once more; his lifelong saviour, light, best friend. _Hide._ What could he have done differently the first time? Why did he have to leave? Why did he give up everything for him? The questions haunt his mind relentlessly as the days pass and Hinami’s death sentence draws closer. Why did he insist on going so far for him when he’s done nothing but hurt him ever since he slipped away without a word?

_I want to see you._

Despite the sharp sound, the force of it that snaps his face to the side, Hinami’s hand against his cheek doesn’t hurt. Angry tears stream down her cheeks as she demands why he’s come to save her because the consequences of doing so are simply too dire for him. He doesn’t reply to that, only promising her he’ll get her out safely. It’s okay. He’s decided this will be the last thing he does.

_Just like you, I want to die in a stylish way._

“I’ll see you later,” the girl from the café tells him, hopeful despite knowing full well of the strength and fame his opponent holds as a slayer of ghouls. Touka, he remembers. That’s her name. Another friend from a time long gone. She hurries off with Hinami and the rest of the rescue team she’d arrived with without hearing his response; there’s no time to lose.

And _I’m sorry,_ he whispers to their receding footsteps as he prepares for his battle to the death with his superior, mentor, father figure. Arima’s expression is impossible to read as always, calmly activating his Quinque and taking his stance.

He breathes, trying to soothe the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He’ll be meeting Hide soon.

His mind blanks out through almost the entirety of their battle, unable to keep up with their movements. He doesn’t want to fight him. He’s never wanted to fight him, not merely because he remembers how he’d been utterly overpowered the last time he attempted to. Arima had been the first person to reach out to him when he was still confused and scared out of his mind in that cell. He’d taught him the fun of reading once more, even sat down and thought about his new name together with him. Often he seems cold and aloof, but often he also has his own tiny ways of showing he cares, no matter how awkwardly he does it. A father he never had, a friend he respected from the bottom of his heart.

It doesn’t hurt even as the stake pierces through his side and tears a gaping hole into his flesh. It doesn’t hurt even as he took his limbs off in lightning fast slashes his eyes could barely follow. A deeply rooted instinct to survive he didn’t know he had pushes him to keep going; stand, fight, don’t stop. He hears a feral cry tear from his lips as he leaps towards him. Kill me, _kill me._

He drops to the ground several feet short of reaching him, stakes of Quinque piercing his stomach, diaphragm, lung. Liquid pools under him; his breaths come out in painful sounding wheezes. Blood wells in his mouth and dribbles down his chin. His body feels weighted down by a thousand stones. He watches Arima step close, Quinque poised to deal the final blow.

He closes his eyes, finding peace.

That should be enough time for them to escape.

He doesn’t even feel the point of the blade piercing his heart.

**…**

His eyelids snap open and he realizes he’s standing knee-deep in a river.

It’s exactly like the legends say. He casts a quick glance around, noting the utter darkness of the sky, the grey soil of the banks like settled ashes. He returns his gaze towards the direction where he faced the moment he came to. The other side. He must cross the river.

He takes a step forward, the water current swirling around his ankles as though trying to deter him. It’s freezing. He clenches his jaw, taking another step—

A hand circles firmly around his arm. He whirls back in a fit of panic, fearing he’d see hundreds of the souls he’d reaped suddenly surrounding him, trying to pull him down and under to suffer an eternal limbo with them.

“Oi, ‘that should be enough’ my ass, Kaneki!”

It doesn’t seem likely that he’d still have a pulse at this point, yet he feels it come to an abrupt stop. The darkness around him lifts, and he _sees_ him. Warm eyes, thick eyebrows and hair like a rat’s nest.

Hide too, is waded up to his knees in the river. He tugs at his arm, urging him towards the side where he’s not supposed to go. Or at least he _thought_ he’s not.

“Are you trying to be that guy? That famous what’s-his-name who died drowning himself or something!” Hide’s prattling on while he tries to recover from his stupor. He doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what exactly is going on even as Hide pulls off his sweater and hands it to him, asking him to get dressed because he doesn’t fancy seeing him naked. He doesn’t know what’s going on even when he discovers he’s suddenly wearing pants and they’re suddenly sitting facing each other on the riverbank.

Hide questions him about leaving the battlefield, judging his replies with an unimpressed gaze and half-hearted hums. His posture, albeit terrible, is relaxed. He easily jokes about his supposed death fight, giving weird nicknames to Arima and even commenting on his muscles. He’s so… _Hide_ that he feels the familiar lump condensing in his chest, once more threatening to burst out his throat in vines and thorns and flowers.

But it doesn’t. In their places are tears, sobs that he could barely hold back to say the few words he’d scarcely let himself _think_ because he knows how much they’ll wreck him. He presses his hands to his eyes, taking one shuddering breath after another and silently thanking whatever deity who’s listening for giving him this one chance to tell him.

“I’m so lonely without you, Hide.”

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he’s pulled into a hug before he can look up. He leans into the warmth of his best friend’s chest, fingers curling loosely into the back of his shirt. Hide’s voice is calm when he speaks, tender. Steady.

“What are you, a little rabbit?” he teases, running a soothing hand over the length of his spine. He then sighs, resting his palm over his nape. “Please don’t give up yet, Kaneki.”

“It hurts too much, Hide.” Kaneki holds him just a little tighter. It’s a challenge speaking past the rawness in his throat. “The flowers, the memories—I don’t know how much more can I take. I’m so _tired_ , I just—”

“Kaneki,” Hide moves to look him in the eye. “You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? All those other times you thought you wouldn’t live through—you survived every single one of them, didn’t you? Don’t underestimate your own strength and obstinacy.” He smiles, a smile tinged with wistfulness. He reaches to tuck a lock of Kaneki’s hair behind his ear, brushing away his tears with his palm as he does so. “Don’t just throw away the life you worked so hard to get back. When you’re tired, take as many breaks as you need. Then get back up and keep going.”

“I don’t want to see any more people I love die.” Kaneki grasps his hand, knowing he’s sounding like some whiny child and not caring a bit about it. “And after all I’ve done, it’s better if I—"

“Do you seriously think no one would be sad if you died, too?” He winces when Hide flicks a finger on his forehead. “Don’t be so selfish, idiot. Think about the Quinx, about Hinami-chan who risked her life protecting you the other time, about the friends you’ve met over the years who are still around. Your death wouldn’t make _any_ of them happy.”

Kaneki averts his gaze. “But…”

“You want to die for someone else’s sake? You want to die stylishly because you thought I did?” When he looks at him again, Hide’s smile is weary, though fond. “You dummy. Back then, I did everything I’d done because I wanted to keep _living_ with you, you know?”

“But you can’t anymore.” Guilt twists in Kaneki’s guts like thousands of angry serpents. “Because I killed you.”

“Yet I’m still here, talking to you right now.” Hide raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as though daring him to argue further. “I’ll always be here, Kaneki. Whenever you need me, whenever you feel like things are getting too overwhelming, I’ll be here to listen.”

And gradually, it dawns Kaneki. This…is probably a trick of his own mind. it’s not the first time he sees such vivid visions, each so believable that it’s easy to confuse them with reality. Him being here and talking to Hide; it’s all a manifestation of his own wishes and psyche. Deep down in some corner of his soul that he didn’t know existed, he does not want to die yet. That, combined with the unbearable yearning to see his best friend once more, has resulted in this. A fevered dream, a wishful thought.

Hide gets on his feet, offering him a hand. Behind him, the sky begins lighting up with millions of constellations, countless clusters of stars stretching towards the distance in an infinite stream. “Come on—you’re able to walk again now, aren’t you? It’s about time for you to go back.”

Kaneki lets him pull him up. Truthfully, he’s not ready to leave. It’s too soon, the few minutes he’d spent here scarcely makes up for the years and years they’d lost. Hide spots the face he makes, and places an assuring hand on the small of his back.

“Didn’t I tell you already? You can return here to see me anytime you want.” His gaze follows the flow of stars above them. “But right now, your friends need your help. Just follow the lights; they should guide you to where you must go.”

Kaneki takes a deep breath, fighting back his reluctance. Hide’s right. Something’s happening out there. His mission still isn’t over yet.

He turns, sparing a moment to rememorize Hide’s boyish, timeless features. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Hide grins, ruffling his hair affectionately. His gaze softens when he speaks again, “And I’ll tell you this as many times as I need to, Kaneki.”

He trails his hand lower, tracing the outline of his face with his fingertips.

“Even if it’s not stylish, please, _live_.”

**xXx**

He jerks back into consciousness and rolls away just as the blade of Arima’s Quinque grazes his skin.

Huh. He’s sure he was out much longer than that.

The calmness he feels this time is different from the one before. Previously it’s one of passivity, him having come to terms with the fact that he _will_ die. Now it’s perhaps more of a…confident calmness. He sees clearly what he’s to do.

No matter how strong Arima Kishou is, he is still human.

Still, it’s not easy putting his Quinque out of commission. Arima’s skilled enough to fight even with it broken in half. Kaneki ends up disabling it with his body in the end, letting him run him through and piercing some of his own vitals. Something finally flickers in his eyes when he meets his gaze, and he withdraws his weapon, taking a step back.

“You do not wish to fight me,” he says, observing Kaneki’s vulnerable stance. Kaneki shakes his head.

“I don’t.”

Then as though the universe is laughing at his face for simply daring to hope, he finds himself losing yet another person he loves that day. 

Is this perhaps the price of him wanting to live?

The blood leaking from his neck dyes the ground dark, his white hair red. The skin of the hand which Kaneki grasps desperately to is still warm. Silence takes its physical weight. Too much, too fast. Too soon for the flowers to even register his grief.

It’s only after some time that he realizes the sound ringing in his ears are his own wails.

**xXx**

Shio twists the stalk of one of the flowers he finds strewn about Kaneki’s pillow when he barges in with the rest of the Squad Zero kids to wake him up.

“Where did you get them, Haise?” he asks, casually throwing himself across Kaneki’s lap. Behind him, Yuusa chides him softly. Kaneki doesn’t mind, though. He’s happy to give them even the smallest moments of normalcy if he could. “And why are you _sleeping_ on them?”

“Would you believe me if I told you they come from me?” Kaneki decides there’s no point hiding that now. With his stock of medication cut off, people are bound to find out sooner or later.

“Hmm,” Shio frowns, puckering his lips in thought. “Is that even possible?”

Kaneki nods. He twists to gather the rest of the flowers, bunching them up in his marred hands. “It’s a sort of disease. I have a plant-like parasite inside me that feeds on my emotions and produces flowers after a certain point. These are the ones I coughed up yesterday.”

Shio doesn’t seem convinced, glancing at his teammates who simply shrug in response. He stares at the flowers Kaneki’s holding, then at Kaneki himself.

“Will you be okay?” he asks, earnest despite his seeming disbelief. Kaneki smiles, reaching to ruffle his soft hair.

“I’ll hold out somehow,” he assures him with a little laugh.

And in the corner of the room, a blond boy no one else sees nods approvingly.

**xXx**

They lie side by side in a vast field of nothing but grass, hands intertwined securely.

“I don’t want to leave yet,” Kaneki says to the sea of stars above.

“No one’s asking you to,” Hide tells him, turning on his side to look at him. “Stay as long as you want to. You’ve got all the time in the world in here this time.”

Kaneki glances at him out of the corner of his eye, unable to find the energy to turn on his back as well. “That’s not true. I have to figure out what I can and should do as the King, how to carry on Arima-san’s will.”

“And give up on more precious sleep? Not on my watch.” Hide pokes his cheek with a finger. “You should know; taking breaks are just as important as being productive.”

Kaneki swats his hand away, but to no avail. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m wasting time.”

“Hey, it isn’t exactly realistic to expect being able to achieve the goals you’ve set so quickly,” Hide reasons. “You’ll have to take care, else you’ll burn out soon enough.”

Kaneki grunts, reluctantly admitting he’s got a point. Hide moves to lie on his back once more.

“So,” he begins, tucking his free arm under his head. “Anything you’d like to tell me today?”

It’s become a sort of ritual ever since their first meetup at the river. Sometimes Kaneki would search for Hide in his dreams, and they’d stay together like this while Kaneki talks and Hide listens. It’s therapeutic, baring his heart like this even if it’s just to an entity he imagined himself. “Hide” would listen, assure, and provide the intimacy and comfort he needs to feel just a little better. Of course, he’d judge him in his Hide-like fashion as well at times, but he often offers suggestions and advice on how to go about things, too. A discussion with his subconscious, a confrontation of his own doubts.

He’s happy like this, he thinks. It’s helping him find a sort of stability he never had before, as well as finding different perspectives to face different issues. It gives him a temporary refuge from reality, allowing him the chance to simply forget for a short while. It gives him a chance to believe his best friend is still around.

Hide stops midsentence when Kaneki brushes his fingertips over his cheek. He feels solid, warm. Real, so incredibly _real_. He lets him draw him closer, shifting to an easier position to lean their foreheads together. Minute stars speckled his amber eyes, his breath smells vaguely like honey. He reaches to idly comb his fingers through his hair. Kaneki traces his fingers over his lips, down the length of his neck.

His chest aches, aches, and aches.

“What’s wrong?” Hide whispers, as though knowing if he spoke any louder this tiny bubble, this fragile spell would be broken. Kaneki shuts his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, the words tumbling out like the petals he often coughs.

“I want to see you, Hide.”

_But I’m right here_ , is the answer Hide—this imagined Hide of his—would always give. This time, though, there’s only silence. A silence that stretches on for so long that Kaneki begins wondering if he’s awaken from his sleep.

Until Hide speaks once more.

“Isn’t it enough like this?”

Because it’s the most he can get. Because outside his dreams, it’s impossible for them to meet again. Because even if he tries dying all over again, there’s not guarantee if he’ll find him in the afterlife or whatever world awaits him after death. All he can do now is keep up his delusions and seek salvation in his dreams.

It’s not always enough, but somehow, it has to be.

**xXx**

Adrenaline pulses in his veins as he turned sharp corners, leap from one building to another, and simply _ran_.

They can’t let the Oggai catch them; death isn’t an option yet. They’ve just begun unifying the ghouls, finding their first solid footing. Even if it’s his precious ex-teammate telling him to surrender, Kaneki cannot.

Gosh, _Mutsuki._

It takes him aback, how much a year or so can change a person. Gone is the timid, quiet Mutsuki he once knew; a highly unstable boy hellbent on taking him back in his place. His once dark-green locks are now completely white, his mastery of using his kagune improved to a terrifying level.

He painfully reminds Kaneki of his own past. Something horribly scarring must’ve happened to him.

It’s almost forever until Kaneki deems it safe for them to stop and catch their breath. He drops to the empty space beside Touka, taking in greedy gulps of dusty air. The building they’re in seems to be abandoned; walls stripped of paint, dust settled on every inch of the room.

He leans back, glancing at Touka. She’s curled up, face buried in her bent knees. She’s shaken, no doubt. Kaneki remembers Yoriko being one of her closest friends when she was still in school. There’s always a possibility that Mutsuki lied about the danger she’s in just to unsettle her and gain an advantage, but Kaneki understands how much it’d knock her off balance. He’s the one who once made the comparison, after all: Yoriko is to Touka as Hide is to him. A constant, a reminder of another world that could’ve been.

“Didn’t you have a best friend too?” Touka’s voice is uncharacteristically small when she speaks, so much so that Kaneki almost doesn’t catch her words. She turns to face him. “His name was…Hide, or something, right? Do you ever think about him?”

Under different circumstances, Kaneki might’ve laughed. Oh, he’d more than _thought_ about him. He sees him even now, seated across the room. His legs are crossed loosely at the ankles, elbow on his knee and chin balanced on his palm as he watches them in silence, wayward smile across his lips.

“I do,” Kaneki admits, not taking his eyes off the boy his mind conjures. His voice wavers as he goes on, realization slowly dawning him that Touka’s the first person he’s bringing up Hide to, and one of the only people who also remembers he existed. “And each time, I’d want to meet him again so badly that I can’t help myself.”

Unreachable. Even though to him he’s just sitting right there a few feet away from him, he’s painfully unreachable.

The world suddenly tilts and he finds himself hitting the ground, a flurry of dust spurned all around him. Touka’s expression is strange, yet somewhat determined. Kaneki remembers the stiflingly awkward talk they had between them just several hours before, remembers her careless offers of warmth and intimacy. She’d ultimately told him her feelings, and he’d been unable to answer because more than anything, he felt empty. He cares for her, perhaps loved her, even, during all those years ago—just not the same way she claims to feel towards him. Not now, perhaps not anymore.

“Let’s forget for a while?” she suggests, tucking her hair behind her ear and leaning close. A union of lonely souls who’s both suffered their share of loses. It’s almost tempting. Maybe, after all this, he could learn to genuinely return her affection. Maybe he could learn to fill the void with her touches and kisses and voice.

Maybe, she’d help him finally take his first step in moving on.

_But you don’t truly wish for this, do you?_

He turns away just in time to avoid coughing into her face. It’s been a long time since he retched flowers like this; branches digging into his throat and petals insistently blocking his intake of air. His medication has long diminished, his sense of pain is no longer dulled. Touka instantly gets off him, giving him space to writhe as he works to gasp however much oxygen he could get. He clutches his chest, the agony there sharper than ever before like flames in his lungs.

Ah, he should’ve known better than to lie to the flowers.

He manages to catch a glimpse of them in between violent hacks; tiny despite their damage, blue with yellow centres. These, he knows without having to refer to books.

Like some kind of warning, some kind of direct rejection, he’s coughing up forget-me-nots.

**xXx**

Nishiki, their local ex-pharmaceutical major, diagnoses him dying.

“No kidding?” Kaneki fails to bite back a snarky remark. He’s gotten so many grave warnings of having a short life over the years that it’s surprising he’s still up and around at this point.

Nishiki glowers at him, obviously unimpressed by how well he’s taking it. “I’m being serious here, Shittyneki. You’re originally fully human; those black tears might be a sign that your body’s finally beginning to reject your kakuhou because it can’t keep bearing the strain from it.” His frown deepens. “And then there’s those flowers. The disease doesn’t even make _sense_ , yet here you are.”

“Guess you’re probably talking to the most unfortunate person alive,” Kaneki shrugs. He pinches the stalk of a lily between his fingers, one given to him by one of the young ones who found them growing just by the entrance of their underground hideout. “How long do you reckon I still have left?”

“At the rate that you’re going? Who knows, you might just drop dead any day now.” Nishiki sniffs, pushing his glasses up his nose. He doesn’t sound like he’s joking. “And that would just troubling as hell. I can already _see_ Tsukiyama wailing over your body like he’s in some soap opera.”

“He definitely would,” Kaneki lets out a small laugh. He would, despite everything he’s done him wrong and the apology he refuses to accept because he claims it changes nothing and that him saying sorry would only imply he’s robbed him of his family without a solid conviction. Kaneki isn’t the angel Tsukiyama seems to make him out to be—far from it, in fact, but perhaps that’s his own way to cope. After all, who would know better about how much easier it is to cling on to delusions than to face the truth?

“You’re _way_ too carefree about this,” Nishiki comments, gaze trained towards the distance. “It really would be a pain if you suddenly died on us, you know. Those idiots only listen to you; it’d be hell trying to get them to calm their dumb asses if anything happens.”

Kaneki’s silent for a second of consideration. “We’ll start getting them to listen to you guys too, then?”

“What, _me_ included?” Nishiki shoots him a deeply disgusted look. “No thanks, I don’t have the patience to deal with their whiny bullshit.”

“What about Tsukiyama-san?”

“Too emotional and extravagant. Not sure if there’s anyone who can actually take him seriously.”

“Banjou-san?”

“He’s even softer than _you_ , if you can believe it.”

“Touka-chan?”

“Her only method of solving things is by punching them into submission.”

“Me?”

“Spineless as poop.” Nishiki does nothing to hold back. “No offense, but they’re obviously just clinging on to the whole One-Eyed King legend. If you weren’t a half-ghoul, I doubt they’d spare you a second glance no matter how strong you are.”

Beside him, Hide snickers at his typical lack of verbal mercy and faecal similes.

“None taken, I’m aware of that.” Kaneki’s not a leader, has never been one all his life. Sometimes for his own amusement, though, he imagines himself to be charismatic, confident. Perhaps a little goofy, too, but still stern enough. Ironically, all those terms correspond to the kind of leader Furuta is. Clownish, yet fearsomely manipulative and productive. Always knowing what to say, how to motivate his forces.

Kaneki’s nothing like that. In truth, he’s still searching for his reason to do all this. The title of “King” had been bestowed upon him and not something he earned himself, expectations without clear goals dumped on his shoulders without warning. He’s gathered as many peaceful ghouls he can find, convinced more aggressive ones to join them using Arima’s staged defeat as a show of strength. But now what? The question persists every passing day. Furuta is planning to completely erase ghouls from the surface of Tokyo, and Kaneki’s done him a favour by gathering his targets in a single place. They don’t have enough fighters who can stand against the ruthless Oggai if they found them.

Now what?

Not even Hide can answer him.

“Yeah, we’ll have to do something about that quick,” Nishiki yawns, languid despite the supposed graveness of their discussion. “Else you won’t be the only here who’s days are numbered.”

**xXx**

He struggles, and struggles, and struggles.

And still, he’s defeated.

It’s over. His limbs aren’t regenerating. Furuta’s gloating about his plan’s success. Kaneki’s own hesitation will cause the city’s biggest mass annihilation of ghouls since the era of the first One-eyed King.

“Oh? Aren’t you going to despair over the fact that possibly everyone you love is about to die because of you?” Furuta squats by his side, eyebrows drawn in mock pity. Kaneki doesn’t look at him, instead staring past him at the figure who always only watches.

_I’m sorry, Hide. I’m still every bit as selfish as I started._

“What’s there to despair over?” Kaneki finds the strength to imitate Furuta’s mockery. His lifts a corner of his lips, in a smile or snarl, he doesn’t really know. “The one person I’ve ever truly cared for has been long dead.”

“Goodness, what a thing for a king to say!” Furuta splays a gloved hand across his chest, excessively scandalised. He turns to address his army of stoic, masked children. “Did everyone hear that? Actually, did anyone happen to record that as well? Could please you run along to broadcast that to the other ghouls? That would definitely bring forth some _delightful_ drama.”

Furuta then returns his attention to him, probably trying to taunt him further, Kaneki doesn’t know. Isn’t he trying a little too hard to get under his skin? Whatever. His consciousness is fading out, his words are nothing more than garbled syllables to his ears. Arima had made a mistake choosing him. This is the extent of what he can achieve. There’s nothing more he can do.

…this is the end.

As his eyelids slide close, he faintly hears the sound of gunshots.

**xXx**

There are no dreams.

He drifts through the darkness, suspecting that this is the true place that awaits after the death of a person. His thoughts crumble as soon as they form, his body non-existent. He feels the pull of a current all around him, bringing him somewhere. It’s strange. He thought hell would be much worse than this.

The sounds gradually creep to his ears; first the ringing from the absolute silence, then the whispers. They’re muffled and gibberish, as though he’s hearing conversations between ghosts from the opposite side of a thick glass wall. He can’t make out what they’re saying. Does the afterlife turn out to have its own language?

He eventually hears the rhythmic beeping of a machine next. A ticking clock, a steady heartbeat. He finds the strength, the weight to resist the tug of the current. He begins sinking—or is he floating? It’s genuinely difficult to tell.

Until his feet touch solid ground, and he wakes up.

He’s lying on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. His dismembered arms and legs have somehow regenerated. There’s a tube connecting his arm to a pouch of red liquid hung on his bedside. As his vision clears, he sees the letters ‘RC’ written on the pouch in bold marker. Huh. Is he taken back to the CCG? He doubts it; Furuta wouldn’t leave him in peace like this even if he decided to take him back alive. There’s not even a door to the room, let alone restraints to tie him down in case he escapes. But if it’s not the CCG then where else could he be? No other party should have access to things as ghoul-specific as liquid RC.

Kaneki attempts sitting up, moving slowly to accommodate the spinning of his head. He waits until his spell of vertigo passes before shuffling his way towards the doorway.

He’s taken about five steps onto the corridor when he notices someone coming towards him. Someone he hasn’t seen since his withdrawal from the Quinx squad.

“Saiko-chan…?”

Saiko’s gaze, originally downcast, flits to meet his. She comes to an abrupt halt, eyes wide. “Maman.”

“Uh,” Kaneki struggles to find something to say. “Hi?”

That seems to do the trick. With a sharp inhale, Saiko rushes towards him, wrapping her arms around his middle in an unexpectedly crushing hug. Her words come out in a torrent; things like how glad she is that he’s awake and okay and that she’s missed him and that she was so afraid he’d finally get done in by Furuta this time. Kaneki lets her hold him until she’s ready to let go, gently patting her hair and encouraging her to take her time. His own eyes feel misty; there’d been plenty times when he found the strong urge to check on the Quinx as well. How were they faring with Shirazu’s death and his absence? How are the new members? Mutsuki’s drastic change he’s seen with his own eyes; he’s glad that Saiko’s at least still much like how she is before. He admires her sturdiness, being able to stay herself in spite of all the hurdles life throws at her.

“Saiko-chan, can you tell me where we are now?” Kaneki asks once Saiko has calmed down. He watches her wipe the remaining tears and snot from her face with her sleeve, the rest of it staining the front of his shirt.

“I’m not sure of the exact location myself, but—” she stiffens, as though abruptly remembering something. “Oh, right! I should tell the Chief that you’re awake!”

Kaneki frowns. “The _Chief?_ ”

“Yeah! He’s the one who planned your rescue.” Saiko reaches to fish her phone from her pocket. “Give Saiko a sec, yeah?”

Kaneki nods, too confused to do anything else. What’s going on? How did they manage to take him from right under the noses of hundreds of Oggai members and Furuta himself? Are they ridiculously strong or maybe just ridiculously smart? Why is Saiko with them? Is Urie and the rest of the Quinx here as well?

“What kind of person is the Chief?” Kaneki couldn’t help asking when Saiko ends her call after a curt conversation that involved the names of various food as some sort of code. Considering he actually played along with it, he guesses he’s definitely not someone uptight. Could he be someone originally from the CCG? Or, now that he thinks of it, could he be part of the non-profit organisation that strives for the coexistence between humans and ghouls he remembers hearing about? Then again, wasn’t that supposed to be mainly made up of civilians and university students? They couldn’t _possibly_ have simply waltzed into the battlefield and whisked him away.

Saiko hums thoughtfully at his question for a moment. “If I were to put it simply, I’d say he’s a mystery?”

That must be a real definitive feature of his, for even Saiko to find him so. “In what way?” he inquires further, curious now.

“In a lot of ways.” Saiko holds his gaze. “He’s a bit like you from last time, Maman. You both wear your hearts on your sleeves, yet it always seems as though you’re hiding a ton of secrets from the world.”

It’s new, hearing such insightful thoughts coming from the girl who used to leave her room for a total of about eight hours a week. He knows Saiko has always had quite an observant eye, she simply lacked the confidence to speak up even though she’s mainly among the people who were like family to her. Perhaps subconsciously, she feels inferior because she spends much less time being on the field compared to the others. Kaneki can never be sure. He’s glad she’s found more comfort in voicing her opinions now, at least.

“I get the feeling you’ll both get along really well, though,” Saiko adds just as they hear another set of footsteps echoing throughout the corridor. She turns slightly towards the direction where she came from. “He’s here.”

Kaneki tries not to have any assumptions on how this “Chief” would look like. He’s as ambiguous as Saiko could make him out to be; his appearance and age left unmentioned. Kaneki’s brain automatically conjures up an image of Haise because of Saiko’s comparison, but he of all people knows how impossible that’d be. There’s no way there’d be another Haise when the real one is thinking about it right then.

There’s no way it could’ve been Hide, either.

Kaneki stares at the newcomer in utter stupor, probably not even breathing. His delusions are finally going too far; he must be projecting Hide’s image onto this person who simply happens to bear a ridiculously close resemblance to him. The same bleached blond hair, dark eyebrows and strong shoulders. His eyes are brown, too, though framed by deep shadows of exhaustion Hide never had. A scarf covers his features from the tip of his nose to the base of his neck, hiding everything underneath but part of a scar on his left cheek.

Scars. He remembers darkness, blood, and the whispers asking him to rest.

The Chief’s wide grin is visible in his eyes when he sees him. “Hey, Kaneki.”

His voice is mechanical, prosthetic. Like he’s speaking through a device, which he likely is. Yet it carries hints of the original; the slight musical lilt, the way he’s made it a habit to say his name in a quick succession of syllables. Kaneki doesn’t dare to hope, doesn’t dare to believe. It can’t be him. A dead man he killed himself cannot be standing there talking to him.

“You... you can’t be—" he feels like he’s choking on air, a complete opposite of what he’s used to. He’s still asleep, he must be. It’s one of the many what-ifs his hypercreative brain produces. It’s not real, he can’t _hope_ that it’s real because the truth will only shatter his heart for the millionth time.

“Well, sorry to break it to ya,” the man scratches his cheek, his sheepish act almost exaggerated, “but it seems that I don’t die that easily.”

_“…Hide?”_

The name slips from his lips against his own volition. He watches as Hide lets his hands fall back to his sides, all his overstated cheer stripping away until he grants him a glimpse of the actual expression he wears.

“It’s been a while, huh?”

**xXx**

Hide insists he rests for the time being, promising him he’ll explain some things to him once he’s done discussing with “the other guys”.

Kaneki really doesn’t know how he expects him to simply sit back and wait when in his eyes it’s as though he’s just returned from the dead. Fortunately for him, Saiko’s more than willing to keep him company and fill him in on what she knows about the more general happenings. Uribo would definitely be able to provide more details, she admits, but he’s occupied with aiding the Chief at the moment so they’ll have to make do.

Saiko explains how there currently seems to be three distinct factions of this war: the CCG and its Oggai under Furuta’s lead, the Goats which was under Kaneki himself, and just recently, the Great Wheel Act which aims to neutralize the conflict between the two species. Kaneki’s heart drops at the mention of the Goats. Furuta had gloated about blocking the ghouls’ only path of escape. Was he the only one who’s saved?

“Chief foresaw this outcome and sent people to secretly plant explosives before the raid happened,” Saiko tells him. “I’m not a hundred percent sure on the details myself, but I heard that all they could do was save around half of the ghouls while the others were caught in the rubble along with the Oggai who were after them.”

Half. That’s better than the complete annihilation Furuta was aiming for, yet Kaneki feels numb. He stares at his hands, not knowing how to let it sink in. “Where are they now?”

“I heard Hide-san’s plan was to scatter and hide them, so it’s really hard to say.” Saiko laces her fingers and twiddles her thumbs. “Some might not even be in Tokyo anymore if they’re quick.”

Wait. “How long was I out?” It didn’t occur to Kaneki to ask until then. Saiko’s averts her gaze, pursing her lips.

“A week,” she says, and it’s only then that Kaneki notices the tired slump of her shoulders. “Your limbs wouldn’t regenerate, and we couldn’t get you to swallow any meat. Your body kept getting weaker and weaker, and I thought—” Saiko pauses, breathes, “I thought I was going to watch you leave without being able to do anything about it again.”

“Saiko-chan,” Kaneki places his hand over hers, waiting until she looks at him before he continues. “Thank you so much for caring about me. And I—I’m so sorry.”

Saiko opens her mouth to speak, but clams up almost immediately after when it seems obvious that she might burst into tears again. She shakes her head instead, taking a minute to steady herself.

“It must’ve been painful for you too, hasn’t it?” she finally says, and Kaneki never expected it to hit so close to home. Because it was, it _was_ painful. That’s why he’d decided to numb it all even if it meant destroying his own body. There’d been so much to accept at the same time; his own past and monstrosity, the death of his loved ones. Without the numbness he’s sure he would’ve simply curled up in his room and stayed still until he rotted away.

“But that doesn’t give me an excuse to have been such a terrible person,” Kaneki mutters, working to keep his voice level. What he’d done is undeniably self-centred; distancing himself under the pretence of protection when in truth he’d done it all because he didn’t know how to face them after Shirazu’s death, after his memories. He’d half-heartedly tried convincing himself that the Quinx will be fine even without him when in actuality all he thought of was his own wellbeing, his own capability to move alone.

“It doesn’t,” Saiko agrees at length, moving her hands to squeeze his fingers lightly. “But it does make it easier to understand why you’ve done what you’ve done.”

He stares at her, awestruck once more by the extent of her growth over the time he’d been gone. Saiko doesn’t give him the time to think of a proper response before going on.

“I’m sure whatever happened between Hide-san and you, he’ll understand if you talk to him about it as well,” she says, breaching the topic unexpectedly. At Kaneki’s look of bewilderment, her gaze softens. “That was my first time seeing him like that, you know. And with your reaction, Maman, it’s not difficult to guess that something’s happened between you two in the past.”

She makes it sound so simple, so easy to accept. Just talk. Kaneki buries his face in his hands. Gosh, he _would_ if he had any idea where to start. How must he put it without sounding like he’s simply giving excuses? How must he word it without sounding like he’s belittling both Hide’s experiences and his own?  

“He has every right to hate me, after everything I’ve done to him.” Kaneki curls his fingers, tugging at the strands of hair caught between them. He remembers the genuine joy in his eyes when he saw him, the bright glint in his pupils and the crinkles at the corners. “That i _diot_.”

He feels a touch on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Maman. Probably.”

And he couldn’t help but laugh. “I sure hope so.”

**xXx**

It takes a few days until Hide finds the chance to properly meet him again.

In the meantime, Kaneki’s free to wander around the base as he pleases. He’s put off the RC infusion the day after he woke and was assigned to a ‘room’ that might have once been a built-in closet. It has just enough space for him to lie down stretched out. His bed is a foldable sleeping bag; his pillow, at least, is clean and probably new. Kaneki doesn’t complain. He figures being given the privacy of a room itself is a privilege under current circumstances.

Kaneki spends his waking hours exploring the corridors and trying to get a solid picture of what’s going on. Saiko’s given him a rough idea, but he needs more. What’s happening now? Who else is in charge? What’s expected to happen next? He overhears useful snippets of conversations every now and then; about communications with teams in neighbouring prefectures, about resources, about clues on Furuta’s next move. He occasionally bumps into familiar faces—mostly CCG co-workers who’s eventually gotten tired of Furuta’s way of doing things—but if they didn’t know any more than he did, they’re wary towards simply disclosing any sort of information to him. Kaneki tries not to take it personally; they were probably on opposing sides of a battle just a few weeks back. Not to mention he’s probably a backstabber in their eyes after Arima’s death and the entire incident in Cochlea. It’s not a reception he shouldn’t have expected. He’s surprised there hasn’t been any outright hostility aimed towards him at all.

Having not met anyone who’s in actual position to tell him things (that meeting Hide mentioned must be never-ending), Kaneki eventually decides to shift his focus to trying to figure out where they are. The building they occupy isn’t all that large; consisting of four stories with the basement used as an infirmary and the uppermost floors converted to makeshift sleeping quarters at night where people folded desks and chairs away and slept side by side on the floor like schoolkids on a field trip. There are about as many people as one may expect from a normal company using a building this size. Gazes out the windows tell Kaneki they’re far away from the city, in a small town so quiet that outside rush hours it might as well be abandoned.

It’s a place, as unreal as it seemed, that’s untouched by the chaos of the city.

Hide appears knocking at his door just as he runs out of distractions.

And he looks like he’s been running on coffee for the past forty-eight hours—which he probably was. His hair is still damp from a shower, his change of clothes fresh. He’s wearing a different mask as well, a dark blue instead of the grey one Kaneki first saw him in. His eyes dart to the space behind him when he opens the door. “Okay, wow, this place is _way_ smaller than I thought it’d be.”

Kaneki takes a step back, turning to gauge the space he can spare. “It’d be a bit of a squeeze, but if you don’t mind staying still you can probably come in?”

“Kaneki, don’t tell anyone but,” Hide’s eyes squeeze shut in an enormous yawn, “I’m literally standing on nothing but sheer willpower right now.”

Kaneki lets him pick his way in, shutting the door and staying where he is to watch Hide bend down and sprawl across one side of the sleeping bag. He could hear the crack of his joints and he groans so much throughout the entire process that Kaneki couldn’t help stifling a laugh.

“What are you, an old man?” he asks, successfully commanding his body to go over. Hide feigns offense, though even with the mask Kaneki could tell he’s smiling.

“Oh, shut up.” He wiggles a bit in place, tucking his hands under his head and letting out a long, weary exhale. His gaze then flickers back to Kaneki, who’s seated himself cross-legged by his side. “Not going to join me?”

“Hide, it’s six in the evening,” Kaneki deadpans. Hide raises an eyebrow.

“So? The whole point of naps is to fall asleep at the weirdest times of the day.”

“What you need is actual _sleep_ , not just naps.” Kaneki sighs, though not without a hint of fondness. He moves to carefully arrange himself in the remaining space of his sleeping bag, gently pushing Hide’s arm out of the way to rest his head on the pillow.

Hide turns on his side, watching him with what Kaneki could only think as a sort of wonder. One he’s never deserved. “As I thought, being with you makes me so much calmer.”

Kaneki’s hands itch to reach out and touch him, but he holds back. As though afraid that if he does he might just shatter this illusion, this moment of impossible peace. “Go to sleep, Hide. Eight hours, minimum.”

He doesn’t ask him if it’s difficult to sleep with his nose and mouth covered.

“Yes, yes.” Hide does the thing where he tenses his whole body and relaxes all at once. “Good night, Kaneki. Or evening—whatever.”

And he drifts off almost immediately, his breathing slowing to a deep, steady rhythm. Kaneki doesn’t know how long he spends simply watching him, memorising the new marks on his face while searching for the old ones that made him the person he once believed he knew even better than himself—until he finally hears himself whisper.

“Being with you has always made me much calmer, too.”

**xXx**

He wakes to realize he’s fallen asleep with the lights on.

And that Hide is still beside him, watching in silence.

“Morning,” he greets, pressing something on his throat. Kaneki stares, stares, and _stares_ , and lets it begin sinking in at last.

“You’re—” his fingertips brushes across his cheekbone— “not a dream, are you?”

Hide touches his hand with the same feather-lightness, the same tentativeness. “How can I convince you?”

Kaneki takes it all in anew: his tired eyes, paler skin, and the scars under the mask. They’re different. He’s older, more ragged. _Realer_.

“For your fourteenth birthday,” Kaneki finds himself saying, in somewhat of a trance, “what did we do as a celebration?”

“You came over to my place and cooked me homemade ramen for the first time,” Hide replies without a shred of hesitation. “It turned out a bit too salty, though. You were telling me I’d lose my hair if I drank all the soup.”

“But you still did anyway, and you spent the entire night either chugging down water or going to pee,” Kaneki says, then abruptly falls silent. There’s a familiar knot in his chest, an obstacle to his words. “Hide, how are you al—”

“Kaneki.” It’s said in a sharp breath. When Hide grasps his shoulder, he feels the tremor in his touch.  He almost sounds like he used to with the volume he uses. “Can we just—leave it as that for now? Save it all for later?”

Forget. He too, wishes to forget. Even if it’s just for now.

“I—” Kaneki swallows, feeling the first droplet spilling from the broken dam. He feels it strengthen to a steady trickle, then a stream. Then ultimately, it crashes forth as a flood and out of his control. _“Nothing’s the same without you.”_

“I know.” Hide’s hold slips to his forearm. His eyes are bright. “I’d never even _dared_ hope that this day would come, yet _look at you_. You’re _here._ ”

Kaneki finds himself smiling, even as his vision blurs and his voice begins coming out hoarse. He places his hand above Hide’s on his arm, and squeezes lightly.

“So are _you_.”

**xXx**

And later, after their tears have dried, after the bone-crushing hugs and the painstaking hesitance to let go, after parting from the other’s embrace and simply staring and staring until it feels real enough—they talk.

They talk in hoarse, hushed volumes, as though exchanging heartfelt secrets. They talk of bygone days, of easier times. Of times when Kaneki had been nothing more than a bookworm with a troubled childhood and Hide the one loud obnoxious kid in class. Of times when they would simply sit on their whale slide and watch the stars until Hide’s watch beeped and it was time for them to go home. Of times when they were simply boys trying to grow up, afraid of growing up.

And a little after that, when the things they deliberately turn away from can no longer wait, they talk about more recent happenings. The Wheel’s intentions to stop Furuta, the ghouls’ whereabouts, Hide’s purpose of rescuing him.

“Because the key to his goals is _you_ , Kaneki,” Hide tells him over a mug of hot chocolate as though they’re merely exchanging silly gossip over breakfast. His mask, usually tied snug around lower face and neck, now hangs loose below his jaw as he sips his beverage from a straw. “All along, he’s been trying to make you _the_ bad guy to the masses. Even I don’t know what exactly was it that he intended to do just before we arrived, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with that once more.”

“He told me his goal is to achieve ‘super peace’ once,” Kaneki says, remembering how mocking it almost sounded, coming from him. “Since I was already the CCG’s biggest target then, he was probably trying to make me a threat to the ghouls as well. Maybe he thought he’d be able to unite the two sides by giving them a common enemy.”

Hide nods, gazing at his mug in deep thought. “Who knows what he could’ve done if we didn’t interfere.”

“Hide.” Kaneki realizes then, the important things he still hasn’t said. “Thank you for saving me.”

Hide’s eyes flit towards him, eyes narrowing slightly from perhaps a wry smile. “I would never let you die if it’s within my power,” he says, earnest to almost a sin. He scratches his cheek, laughing a small, sheepish laugh. “It took me forever to convince Marude-san and the guys, though. You wouldn’t _believe_ how stubborn they could be.”

The implication doesn’t sink in at first. Kaneki’s familiar with Marude’s cynicism; he’s the type who hated wasting resources and time and all that. His fame itself stems from his incredible efficiency, regardless of the moral righteousness of his actions. Kaneki figures he must’ve seen him as a broken piece, a checkmated king on the chessboard. It’s not far from the truth. Even he feels he’s little more than a figurehead, a useless symbol of unity. He could’ve died down there, and it might make little difference to what happens next, except perhaps the blindly faithful ghouls he’s somehow gathered would decide to wage war and march right into the pit of death Furuta has lovingly set up for them.

But as usual, Kaneki thinks of himself first.

Then subconsciously, his fingers creep to his throat.

“It’s because I…”

He doesn’t finish, _can’t_ finish the sentence. Oh, of course. Hide’s one of the leaders of a secret ragtag group of rebels, likely also one of the main strategists by the looks of it. He wouldn’t have gained his position without trust and respect. To have taken away his voice, forced him under a mask—Kaneki understands now why Marude and the others were reluctant to comply to Hide’s wishes. If he were in their shoes, he’d feel the same as well.

“What’s important is,” Hide cuts into the silence before it can grow heavy, “we’ve caught Furuta off guard by burying more than a third of his army under rubble, scattering the ghouls, and whisking you off before he can try whatever the hell he was trying again. We’ve just located Dr. Kanou and should’ve sent a team after him a few hours back; Furuta should be forced to a momentary stop if he can’t produce more fighting machines. We should be buying ourselves enough time to figure out what we can do about all…this.”

He punctuates with a vague gesture. This. The rising hatred, prejudice. This madness Furuta has attempted to orchestrate. Human or ghoul, it’s too easy to encourage violence around them, with the already existing tension brought about by the steadily widening rift between the two species over centuries. Even Kaneki, in his short period as the One-eyed King, had quickly given up on the idea of coexistence when all their focus went to simply trying to survive the CCG’s mass ghoul-hunt.

Hide’s being almost too ambitious; the true problem is likely a deeply rooted mentality in the people. All ghouls are cold-blooded monsters. All humans cannot be trusted, monsters in their own right. The most they’ve bought is several weeks, then surely Furuta would be on the move again. It’d take years to change a society’s outlook—decades, at least.

Yet Hide doesn’t seem phased by that at all, eyes gleaming with boyish determination as he continues speaking. He reminds him of the large-scale protests that’s been persistently going on in the streets lately, those demanding for ghoul rights and equality courtesy of Takatsuki Sen’s reveal. He reminds him about the ghouls he’d taken under his wing; ghouls who, for all their lives lived among humans and fled only when it became too dangerous for both parties. He reminds him of Nishiki and his girlfriend Kimi, of the possibility of there being thousands of other ghoul-human lovers who refuse to give up their relationship despite knowing how risky it is to be together. The hostility they know of is statistically concentrated in only a handful of ghouls and humans. Many others are already changing, understanding.

“And we agreed to save you because your death might encourage a bloodthirsty revenge among the Goats,” Hide says, matter-of-fact. “As sour as Marude-san is about it, he knows violence isn’t what we need right now. Besides, I’m sure you’d be the only one they trust the most. They followed our instructions this time because there hadn’t been much choices for them, but I doubt they’d be happy taking more orders from us in the future. That’s why we’re counting on you to help us rally and direct them next time, Kaneki.”

He seems to have everything thought out; the next ten-twenty steps they should take, consideration of each party’s feelings, the possible outcomes of every choice they make. And he’s so… _confident._ Hide sounds so free of doubt in taking his next steps that Kaneki feels himself naturally drawn in, naturally thinking ah, things will surely work out because it’s _him_. Hide has always shone in his worshipping eyes, but because he poured so much attention to him alone, many others see him as little more than a loud goof. Now Hide has diverted his attention to something bigger, and Kaneki has no doubt whatsoever that it’s this brilliance of his that’s attracted so many others to join his cause.

It’s as frightening as it’s amazing.

“Kaneki?” He blinks when Hide waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing! Nothing’s wrong!” Kaneki realizes he’s been staring, lost in thought. He clears his throat. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, Hide. I promise.”

Hide studies his face a little longer, as though trying to gauge how much he’s refraining from saying. Then reluctantly, he nods, gaze never leaving his. “At any rate, the team should be back soon. We’ll be trying to figure out what’s comes next then, so you should come join us too.”

“If that’s what you wish.” Kaneki suddenly finds the corners of his lips quirking up. “ _Chief._ ”

“You know, that’s just embarrassing, coming from you,” Hide snorts, shooting him an equally mischievous look. _“Your Majesty_.”

“Oh, god, _no_.” Kaneki lets the mirth bubble up his chest, laughing helplessly as Hide breaks into his own fits of giggles mixed with playful cringes _(“I can’t believe you actually have people calling you that, oh my_ god _!”)_ Part of Kaneki marvels at how easy it still is to let his guard down around Hide, how being with him makes everything feel…okay. How he feels things _will_ be okay even when he coughs once and finds a petal on his palm.

A single brilliant red petal.

“We’ll find a way to fix that, too,” Hide promises, watching him absently wipe it dry on his sleeve and examine it between his fingers. Kaneki wonders if he knows it’s no longer a matter of “how” but a matter of figuring something out in time when it comes to his Hanahaki disease. He decides not to mention it, choosing to simply believe. If it’s Hide, anything’s possible.

“What flower do you think this belongs to?” Kaneki has just the time to ask before someone runs in on them, telling their Chief that the ‘Kanou extraction’ team has returned. Hide nods at them once, firmly. He reaches to the back of his neck and readjusts his mask as he stands up. In a matter of seconds, his entire demeanour has changed.

“Come on, Kaneki,” he says, an unnameable, underlying current in his tone. A stark contrast to his mirth just a mere minute ago. “Let’s go see what our mad doctor has to say for himself.”

**xXx**

With everything happening all at once, the impact of Dr. Kanou on his life slips his mind for a moment.

And then Kanou smiles warmly when he sees him walking into the interrogation room with Hide. “Why, fancy meeting you here, my precious prototype.”

Kanou Akihirou, the man who changed his life by turning him into a half-ghoul. Kaneki remembers asking: why him? Why this? And he’d answered with something akin to the musings of a madman. He feels white-hot anger flare in his chest. This man had been responsible for so much of his recent hardships. Death would’ve been preferable to the things he had to go through after receiving Rize’s kakuhou. If only it’d been someone else, if only his own body had rejected the implantation.

But Kaneki’s rage dissipates as quickly as it’d ignited. Yes, he could blame Kanou for all he’s done. He could torture him, kill him, exact a justified revenge—but that wouldn’t undo his experiences after being turned into a ghoul. He has, at this point, come to accept what he’s become. Holding a personal vendetta towards Kanou will achieve nothing except perhaps a short-lived feeling of self-satisfaction when he spills his blood with his own hands.

That sounds good enough, Kaneki’s not going to lie.

“Dr. Kanou.” It’s Hide who greets him first, moving to take a seat across the man. Kaneki catches a glimpse at his face, and feels a prickle down his spine. He’s never seen Hide look so cold, so… _furious_. For perhaps the third time in his life, he feels fear towards his best friend. This isn’t the bright, mischievous boy who isn’t bothered by anything whom he’s known since childhood. This is another side of him whose anger resembles ice and not fire, who leads a rebel organisation with his wits, who is no doubt capable of coming up with elaborate plans to make his enemies miserable for the rest of their lives.

Kanou’s gaze travels to Hide’s face, and he tips his head. “And you must be the Chief I heard about. Greetings,” he says as though his hands aren’t handcuffed to the back of a chair and he hasn’t got two Quinx flanking him. On the chair to Hide’s right, Marude has his arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep impatiently, barely even looking up to acknowledge the newcomers when they entered. He looks like he too, is contemplating if it’s worth his effort shooting the bastard in the head.

“I’ll get right to business.” Hide’s voice is amazingly calm and neutral when he speaks, betraying absolutely none of the seething wrath Kaneki had seen on his face for just a moment before. “What do you know about Furuta’s plans?”

“You seem to be giving me too much credit, young man.” The amused smile doesn’t leave Kanou’s lips. “I am but a lowly researcher, doing what I’m sponsored to do.”

“Let me rephrase that question then.” It’s Marude’s turn to speak. “What has that son of a bitch asked you to do so far?”

Kanou lifts an eyebrow. “And what good would it do me to tell you?”

“For starters, you won’t have a bullet in that sick head of yours,” Marude deadpans. Kanou only shrugs.

“I suppose that’ll simply save me the trouble of finding a gun and shooting myself.”

“So I gather you have nothing else to lose?” Hide’s clasps his hands loosely on his lap. “Why refuse to tell us anything, in that case?”

“Because you’ll get in Washuu Kichimura’s way, and our goals will never be realized.” When Kanou turns to Kaneki, he almost looks wistful. “It was all supposed to end with you, you know. But it seems our dear Director finally made a miscalculation by overlooking the wildcard.”

“And how exactly was _that_ supposed to turn out?” Kaneki tries for the same even, unemotional tone Hide and Marude so effortlessly employs. It’s surprisingly difficult, especially after being confirmed to be the endgame of whatever wild plan Furuta had been trying to initiate. Thinking back, he wonders if all that gloating from Furuta was supposed to spur him into some sort of blind rage or something; Kaneki knows there have been times when the desperate need to fight combined with his own starvation had driven him to some sort of senseless rampages. Perhaps Furuta had been aiming for that: to turn him into an actual monster the world could collectively see as an enemy.

All Kanou gives him as a reply is a knowing smile, as though they were sharing some sort of amusing secret. The silence that follows it grows tense, thick. Kaneki could almost hear the gears in Hide and Marude’s brains turning; working to process the information they just received, to find the best way to extract more. He, on the other hand, seems to have his thoughts blanking out. No, this can’t do.  Hide’s trusting him enough to as far as letting him join them in this interrogation and assist him in many other things in the future. He can’t be acting like deadweight already.

But the more he tries to think, the harder he finds it to grasp onto a start of a thought. He glances up, and his gaze happens to land on the Quinx standing just a little behind Kanou. They’re the second generation—Shao and Higemaru, if he remembers right. There’s one more of them too—Special Class Aura’s nephew. He’s the one who was hanging around with Mutsuki when they attacked the café.

Kaneki’s train of thoughts makes a sudden brake. The _Quinx_. Furuta’s army.

“The Oggai,” Kaneki mutters, only half conscious that he’s said that out loud.  “If you’re here now then does it mean he’s stopped producing them?”

“According to what I heard from the brats,” Marude cocks his chin towards Shao and Higemaru, “this bastard barely had anyone guarding him. Whatever he’s been doing for Washuu Kichimura, he’s probably done with it.”

“But it makes no sense,” Hide mumbles into his fingers. If he wasn’t wearing the mask, Kaneki thinks he’d be nibbling on the skin there in thought. “We buried almost half of the Oggai when we set off those explosives. If he doesn’t need them anymore, then what else can he—”

He stiffens, obviously hit by some sudden realization.

“Lock him up,” is all he finally says, indicating Kanou with a wave of his hand while he stands up. “I want him guarded 24/7. We’re done for the time being.”

And then he storms right out. Kaneki makes to follow after him, but hesitates at the last second. He has the feeling it’s not a good time to disturb him.

“Leave him,” Marude affirms once Kanou has been escorted to whatever room’s about to be his makeshift cell. There seems to be a hint of pride in his voice as he continues, “He’ll show up again once he’s got his brains sorted out.”

Kaneki nods, numbly. Marude proceeds to regard him with his usual unimpressed look.

“In the meantime, why don’t you tell us all about the Goats?”

**xXx**

He spends the next day or two telling them about the ghouls he knows could be assets to their cause.

In return, Marude gives him a long-awaited update on their situation—as well as the Goats’ whereabouts. The remainder of the Goats have been separated into groups of approximately fifteen to twenty; one group has safely been taking in by their allies in Saitama, another in Chiba, while most remain in small towns located at the very outskirts of Tokyo. Communication with them has already been established; it’s possible for him to let them know he’s still alive. It is, in fact, highly recommended for him to do so soon to lift their spirits and prepare for the next step of whatever’s going to happen.

It’s Urie who later brings him to the communications room. He’s grown a little taller since the last time they met, his chest and shoulders broader. There seems to be something different at his core as well; he’s grown a little older, a little more matured. He doesn’t say much to Kaneki apart from the customary “it’s been a while” and “how’s your health”. Given he had never been the type for small talk for as long as he can remember, Kaneki figures that counts for a lot of improvement.

Kaneki’s briefly introduced to the team in charge of maintaining their network when he arrives. He realizes with a start that a quarter of them are university students—it’s obvious from the more casual way they dressed compared to the ex-CCG members and other professionals who’s decided to aid them. Part of him can’t help but wonder what’s motivated them to put themselves in such a precarious situation. A strong sense for equality? Perhaps a loved one who’s a ghoul? Perhaps they themselves are ghouls and they’ve simply chosen a path different from joining the Goats? He doesn’t ask.

They manage to connect him to all the scattered groups of ghouls but two, reasoning that perhaps they can’t be reached right now due to weather conditions. They assure that they’ve been able to consistently maintain contact with them all this while, and unless—god forbid—something has happened, they should be able to get through later. Given they’ve yet to receive any reports from their allies in those areas, Kaneki tentatively allows himself to believe it’s the weather.

The ghoul groups turn out to be generally led by Kaneki’s old inner circle of friends. Touka and Hinami are watching over mainly other women and children—they were at the very front of the group with them, Kaneki remembers. Tsukiyama, Banjou, Nishiki, Ayato, Miza, Irimi, and Koma are in groups of their own. Except for Hinami, Tsukiyama, and Banjou who both sounded overjoyed to hear his voice, everyone else seems quite tired of his antics. Nishiki even lovingly tells him to eat shit for going on a honeymoon while _he_ has to deal with jittery ghouls who seemed extremely convinced that they’re gonna die every hour.

A honeymoon…huh. In a sense, it _does_ feel like one. He can’t believe how easy it is to forget the direness of it all when he’s no longer the only one in charge. Out there, people are still living under the constant threat of Furuta’s goal of annihilation. Even in his immediate surroundings, people are working almost non-stop to at the very least scale down a potential war. It’s not the time for him to drift around like this. King or not, he’s long decided that it concerns him as well. If a world where humans and ghouls live together in peace can exist, then…

“Please be on standby until we contact you guys again,” Kaneki tells his friends, hoping he sounds way more certain than he feels. He manages a small smile. “And whatever you do, stay safe.”

“Will you be joining us again soon, my king?” Tsukiyama asks just before he could disconnect. Kaneki pauses, taking half a minute to consider his answer.

“That will depend on how things work out,” he says, slowly. He takes a resolute breath, meeting his gaze. “But for now, I’ll do whatever I can here.”

Tsukiyama falls silent, a moment passing before he says with a hint of satisfaction. “I trust you, Kaneki-kun.”

Kaneki would’ve honestly dreaded to hear those words in most past occasions, especially from Tsukiyama who seems to have so much baseless faith in him. He didn’t deserve all that confidence when everything he’s doing felt so uncertain. Now, though, he feels the budding urge to answer to those expectations. He’s not alone, perhaps never has been. He’d been blinded by his own self-centredness, maybe, but all this while, there have always been people supporting him, trying to help. Hide and the Wheel have, in this brief moment of calm, somewhat shown him that their goals aren’t something that can be achieved alone. It’s time he realized that as well.

He begins putting his all into helping the Wheel, offering what he knows and volunteering to find out what they do not. He learns to become more vocal with his ideas and opinions during strategy meetings, encouraged by small, hidden smiles from Hide—the real Hide and not the fleeting, ethereal image of a boy his brain conjures. As Furuta’s advances seem to quiet for weeks, they begin putting a little more focus on the bigger picture. What can they do to encourage coexistence? How will it cost each party and how can they compensate for that? The issues almost seem endless. Hide seems to be toying with the possibility of turning ghouls into humans, the same way humans have been made into ghouls. His primary reason for keeping Kanou alive and captive is simply that, but they both know the man can’t be trusted. He’s someone who always puts his own benefits first; un-ghouling ghouls doesn’t seem likely to be at the top of his to-do list when he’s spent so much time doing the exact opposite.

Not to mention there’s the question of pride that comes with the change. Not all ghouls would have the trust to go under the knife of humans to possibly have their kakuhou—the main thing that makes them ghouls—removed or altered. Many still take pride in what they are, and may rather stay outcasts than be put under the mercy of human hands. Even if it is mainly entrusted to surgeons who are ghouls, not many may be willing to undergo the procedure. To take away a ghoul’s kagune is akin to taking away their sense of power and control. They could, perhaps, try to come up with something other than human meat and coffee which ghouls could eat instead, and entrust the production and distribution of it mainly to ghouls.

But most importantly, they must destroy the stigma around ghouls before anything.

It’s one problem after another. Distracting. Time consuming. Yet Kaneki finds a stronger sense of purpose than ever before.

And before he knows it, he eventually stops coughing flowers.

**xXx**

“I think it was either a rose, or a tulip.”

Kaneki pauses from stirring his coffee, staring at Hide in confusion. “What was?”

“You were asking me about that petal you coughed up before we were called to meet Kanou that time,” Hide says, resting his arms on the table and leaning a bit forward. Thinking back, Kaneki gets the feeling something like that _did_ happen. He’s surprised Hide still remembers about it, after all the time that’s passed and the things that they’d done. “I never got the proper chance to reply.”

“A red rose or tulip, huh?” Kaneki smiles to himself. It’s easy enough to guess what that meant. It’s been obvious for so long now; this tender warmth in his chest, the incomparable sense of comfort that comes with being with Hide. And red flowers usually only meant one thing according to the sources he’s glanced through over the years.

“How does the disease work, exactly?” Hide asks, a twinkle of fascination in his eyes. It’s different from the usual pity or doubt that comes with similar questions from other people. Kaneki explains about the parasite and how it feeds on emotions, how different types of flowers bloom and choke him depending on what he feels. He explains how one day his body is bound to lose the ongoing battle for nutrients with it, and finds himself chuckling at how he’s been bracing for that one day that doesn’t seem to come.

“Wait, hold up, though.” Hide touches his hand to stop him from rambling on. “Let’s backtrack a bit. So what _did_ it mean when you coughed up that red rose-tulip or whatever petal the other day?”

A tint of childish hope in his voice, a tentativeness Kaneki understands. Oddly, Kaneki doesn’t feel the embarrassment that he’s sure would come with the words that are about to leave his mouth. He holds Hide’s gaze, confident in the truth of every word when he says:

“It means I love you, Hide.”

For once, Hide is stunned into silence. His brown eyes, now so much more expressive with the rest of his face covered, flickers with dozens of unnameable emotions. Kaneki waits, trying and trying to convince himself that no matter how Hide reacts to it, he’ll accept it. It won’t change the fact that he loves him with all his heart, forever and always. It won’t change the fact that nothing will change his feelings for him.

“Don’t—give me false hopes like this, Kaneki.” Finally, Hide averts his gaze, his hands curling into loose fists. Kaneki feels a stab of pain in his chest, contradicting the pounding of his heart from the way Hide had worded his sentence. “Didn’t you mention that they would only bloom from negative feelings?”

“That’s only an assumption because it’s always only acted that way until then, and there’s too little research on it to prove otherwise,” Kaneki reasons, torn between waiting for Hide to face him once more, and reaching out to gently coax him to do so. “But even if it did mean something else, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with you. That I have been in love with you for a long time now.”

“And how do you think that makes _me_ feel, telling me that now?” Hide whispers, raw. Kaneki finds the courage to brush his fingertips across his cheek, just above the edge of his mask.

“I don’t know,” he admits, heart beating a little harder when Hide finally glances back at him. “How _do_ you feel?”

“Like a goddamn fool for being this stupidly happy,” Hide says in a weighty sigh, like some part of him still refuses to believe, still refuses to hope. Kaneki wants to assure him, wants so badly for him to know he means it with every fibre of his being—but once more, as many times before, he fails to find a way to do so.

_Talk_ , Saiko’s advice echoes at the back of his mind. Just talk and things will work out eventually.

“How can I convince you?” Kaneki finds himself parroting the words Hide once said the first morning they’d woken up face to face, eye to eye. “How can I convince you that I mean all of it?”

“Well, you could kiss me and we’ll see what we can do from there?” Hide says it in the same tentative tone he’s been using, a complete contrast to the straightforwardness of his statement. Kaneki gradually realizes that this is perhaps the first time Hide’s supposedly flawless ability to act is failing him. His reply is what he’d expect him to give, to subtly break the ice and laugh off the tense atmosphere like he’s always been great at doing—but his voice indicates a different story, a different emotion entirely.

“I’ll only do that if that’s what you truly want,” Kaneki insists while ignoring the way his cheeks stubbornly burn against his will. Hide’s gaze softens at that, his mask shifting slightly when he smiles.

“I’ve been wishing for that since high school, Kaneki. What do you think?” he says, tilting his head slightly to the side. And _gosh_ , Kaneki thinks in dismay as he stands up and moves towards Hide’s side of the table. It’s been barely ten minutes since he made his feelings clear and he’s already got him wrapped and secured around his finger.

He bends, placing one hand on Hide’s shoulder for balance while he cups his cheek with the other. He searches for his lips with his thumb, the tender flesh almost lost under the rough material of his mask. He only stops looking at him to close his eyes when he leans in.

Contrary to the dramatics presented in fiction, Kaneki doesn’t feel electrifying sparks passing between them, nor the fire in his belly or the tingle in his fingertips. It simply felt…right. Like they were two lost pieces of a whole finally fitting together again. Like it was fully meant to be.

“What next?” Kaneki breathes as he pulls back by an inch. And _again_ , Hide says without hesitation so he does it again, again and again as he wishes, kissing him just a little longer after each time until Hide reaches to comb his fingers through his hair and presents him with a different instruction.

“Don’t look away,” he says, and proceeds to untie the knot at the back of his head. Kaneki watches as fabric slips away to reveal ragged, discoloured scars; marred skin; a metal device embedded in his throat. He looks, and he drinks it all in. This is the Hide who’s been hurt, who still marches forward with his head held high despite that. This is the Hide who’s changed from simply his dorky best friend to his dorky best friend who helps lead an organisation that might just alter the world.

This is the Hide he still adores no matter what.

“Do you still—” Hide doesn’t get to finish, Kaneki cutting him off with a kiss before he can speak further. This is how it truly feels to kiss him, to trace his fingers over imperfectly healed skin. Eventually, Hide smiles against his lips, and Kaneki’s breath catches when he feels his heart _soar_.

“I didn’t tell you to do that,” he points out wryly once they part. Kaneki notices with delight that he’s blushing as well.

“I didn’t say I’ll let you order me around,” he says, sighing as he studies the parts of him he’s probably kept hidden for years now. His memories of that one night are still fragmented, details slipping away from him like fleeting dreams. Flowers, blood, a voice from home. “Thank you for always saving me, Hide.”

He’s beginning to understand now, why Tsukiyama had refused to accept his apologies.

“Pshh, you give me too much credit.” Hide laughs, voice quivering at the final few syllables. He takes a sharp breath to collect himself, gazing at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “For the record, though, I’d end the world if it’s for you.”

He says it with so much childish graveness that Kaneki can’t help but laugh. “Let’s not do that, okay?”

Hide exaggerates a frown. “I can’t promise you that.”

“Idiot.” Kaneki taps him on the head, straightening from the awkward pose he’s been maintaining all this while. Hide grins, brighter than ever even with the scars crisscrossing his face. Kaneki cringes internally at the sheer cheesiness of it, but he feels himself falling in love all over again at the sight of him.

“Are you going to put it back on?” he asks, indicating the bundle of cloth on Hide’s lap. Hide spares it a glance and a second of consideration. Then he simply shakes his head.

“Actually, I think I’ll leave it off for the rest of the day.”

**xXx**

Hide, in fact, never wears his mask again until he finds a less conspicuous alternative to go out in public with.

Years pass before they realize. Furuta’s grand plan turned out to be creating a huge monster to rampage across Tokyo by physically fusing whatever’s left of his Oggai army. While the Wheel, Goats, and the last of the CCG members were able to combine efforts and stop it somehow, the damage had been immense. Destruction was spread across several Wards; infrastructure ruined, homes and lives lost. The CCG that’s acted as a pillar of security to the public for centuries was subjected to harsh scrutiny for their failure in electing a proper Director. Furuta himself had gone missing and efforts to track him down remain ongoing even until this day. If Hide guessed right, V must be keeping him very well hidden.

Yet, all wasn’t bad. The joint effort of humans and ghouls fighting to save the places they mutually called home proved to help greatly in boosting the message that they are capable of living amongst one another. The positivity in that was mostly outweighed by the despair that followed the event, but it’s still a step forward. It’s planted a seed, encouraging what-ifs in the minds of the people. Changes will take time, and if there’s anything the population has, it’s the time and capacity to change.

Meanwhile, a special council has been formed to discuss the future of Japan’s ghoul inhabitants upon the demands of the Wheel and Goats in return for aiding the battle against Furuta’s beast. Having acted as one of the main figureheads of the ghouls, Kaneki was part of it for a short period until he realizes that he isn’t suited for actual politics. He ends up entrusting negotiations to the representatives from other prefectures whom Hide had called over, instead putting his focus on smaller scale efforts like overseeing the general wellbeing of the ghouls in Tokyo while they went on.

It’s eventually decided that the CCG will stay, though it’s now more of a convenient name members of the Great Wheel Act could use. Instead of killing ghouls upon detection, their role is altered to only handling ghouls who are aggressive. To compensate for the current lack in technology to produce Quinques after the Oggai’s destruction, ghouls are also now allowed to join as investigators. The law to punish humans who harbour ghouls is later lifted as well. Discussions about more delicate topics like ghouls’ dietary habits are still going on until this day; it’s still difficult as ever when it comes to the question of pride. Social uproars also happen from time to time due to the change, but Hide had been right when he claimed a majority of the people simply want peace. Sometimes Kaneki still leans back against his chair and marvels at how much progress they’ve managed to make in that few years.

Funds have been allocated to the research of ghoul biology to accommodate the large expression of willingness to try alternatives that could lessen their dependence on human meat. The one who finally proposes the first way to safely do so is one of Kanou’s brightest ex-assistants and also Nishiki’s girlfriend, Kimi. Kanou himself was found dead in his cell shortly after the appearance of Furuta’s “dragon”, his tongue bitten grotesquely in half.

Kimi and her team proposed a method to slowly stave a ghoul’s body off its reliance on RC cells by introducing enzymes that’d help them digest and absorb nutrients from human food into their system. Then once their body is used to it, they may try removing their kakuhou to eliminate their need for RC production entirely. However, as it is still yet to be proven safe and effective, there are still ghouls hunting and scavenging popular suicide sites. Security measures are taken to handle those who still resort to killing, but a blind eye is turned on the latter even when families of the deceased begin voicing their complaints. Lies are spurned to appease them, some were willingly bought into silence.

Until they’re able to break this long going chain of bloodshed, they can only compromise the best they can.

By the time the first stage of Kimi’s research is completed, ghouls have integrated back into society rather well, especially those who lived in quiet Wards to begin with. People go on with their lives without questioning one another’s identity. It’s those who inhabit rowdier Wards that experience the most trouble adjusting; the ghouls used to being predators and humans used to walking in the streets at night clutching their phones with the CCG’s emergency number on speed dial. The debate on how to handle it is still going strong in the council—whether they should handle it by sheer force as bitterly suggested by the humans or try to negotiate the best they can with the aggressive, egoistic ghouls—and Hide would often return from conferences complaining about how the stubbornness of both parties is about to turn him bald. And Kaneki would only laugh in response, once helpfully pointing out how _he_ should know better of that than anyone when he’s facing all those shiny heads at least seven hours a day.

Kaneki volunteers to be one of the first few subjects to test out Kimi’s solution as a show of faith that he hopes will assure the other ghouls on the safety of the procedure. In spite of the time that’s passed since he’s last active as the One-eyed King, most ex-members of the Goats still retain their trust in him as a leader. Kaneki honestly fails to figure out what exactly he’s done to have them look up to him despite all his mistakes, but he guesses if it’s going to help smoothen their progress he’s better off not questioning it.

So he takes the enzymes, visiting the labs daily to have his condition monitored. Although they can’t ignore the possible influence of him being originally human, his RC count that’s high even by ghoul standards makes his results convincing enough. Not only that, recent scans show that the parasite in his lungs have mysteriously turned dormant. Kaneki has, in fact, not thrown up any flowers and choked on vines for about three whole years. He has his own hypotheses on why that’s so, but he decides to leave the explanations to the experts. What’s important is that things are finally— _finally_ —looking up for him, too. 

Right now, he sits with a plate of egg sandwiches on the table before him. Hide’s by his side, an empty bucket ready in his hands in case they still taste like spoiled milk and rotten fish guts. Kaneki gulps, heart pounding as he lifts a sandwich to his mouth. Hide seems to hold his breath with him when he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a bite

“How is it…?” Hide asks tentatively when he finally swallows after a minute of slowly chewing and rolling the morsel around in his mouth. Kaneki takes a moment to let the long-forgotten nerves reconnect with his brain, for him to realize his gag reflexes aren’t reacting out of disgust and that it doesn’t feel like he’s just eaten something spoiled beyond recognition. He takes a moment to let the familiarity of the taste of bread, eggs, and lettuce sink in.

And “it tastes great,” Kaneki says as tears well up in his eyes and laughter bubbles unhindered up his chest. “It tastes great!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chosen flower meanings according to explicit mentions:
> 
> Zinnia: I mourn your absence; thoughts of absent friends
> 
> Heather: admiration; solitude
> 
> Dead leaves: sadness
> 
> Hyacinth: sorrow
> 
> Anemone: forsaken
> 
> Blackthorn: difficulty
> 
> Hyacinth (purple): I am sorry; forgive me
> 
> Forget-me-not: true love; memories
> 
> Lily: majesty, purity
> 
> Rose (red): love; respect
> 
> Tulip (red): believe me; declaration of love
> 
> Red flowers in general: my heart aches for you
> 
> Ref-ed from [here](http://www.joellessacredgrove.com/language.html) and [here](https://www.almanac.com/content/flower-meanings-language-flowers) :D


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